


Perfection

by belovedstill



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Character Study, Fallen Castiel, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, terminal illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:19:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedstill/pseuds/belovedstill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It were these little things that made Castiel perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfection

**Author's Note:**

> written and posted by [Basia](http://www.casinthongs.tumblr.com)  
> No character belongs to me - they're all property of Eric Kripke's "Supernatural" (The CW)  
> I really hope you like it!

          It were these little things that made Castiel perfect, even without his angel mojo. It was a mug full of hot, fumy coffee made just the way he liked, waiting for him every morning. It was a slice of apple pie when his mood turned bad again, after another fight with Sam. It were these gentle, loving hands that caressed his tender flesh around the healing wounds. It were these soft lips covering his own when they’d lost more people than they’d saved during a hunt. It was his voice saying “it is alright, Dean” and “everything will get better” and “in the end, it will not even matter”. It was his faith and his prayers to God he still believed in.  
  
         It was his “Father, why have you forsaken me?” when his nightmares of the night that his Grace had gotten ripped out of him returned. It was the expression on his face when nobody ever answered his calls.  
  
         It was this confused look in Castiel’s eyes when the angel told him that his heart was beating too slowly. It was the way his hands managed to grip his leather jacket when he fell for the first time.  
  
         It was the way he kept saying “I am fine” when he noticed how very worried Dean was. It was him lying that nothing was hurting him. It was this weak human body with diseases that belonged to him now.  
  
         It was the time they had left and the days Castiel kept striking out on the calendar. It were his quiet sighs and sorrowful expressions full of regret when he thought nobody was looking.  
  
         It was his shallow sleep, eyelids closed for more and more minutes every night. It was his tentative “I feel exhausted” spoken during the calm days, even when they hadn’t had any chance to get tired.  
  
         Castiel was perfect even when the doctors chained him to a hospital bed, dressed in a thin, white hospital gown that was definitely too coarse against the man’s sensitive skin. He was perfect with his fingers tightening around Dean’s hand, trying as hard as he could to muster more of his strength, but the grip still was too loose to content any of them. He was perfect even when his body got weaker and weaker. He was perfect when he was staring at the polyline showing the work of his cardiac muscle, straining his ears to hear every loud beep of the apparatus. He was perfect when he turned his eyes to the hunter claiming that he was able to feel every flutter of his heart.  
  
         He was perfect when he told him that he could feel the upcoming end. He was perfect when he was whispering soothing words to Dean’s ear who was crying like he has never let himself before. He was perfect when he kept comforting the hunter even though he was the one who should be taken care of.  
  
         He was perfect even without his wings or halo or strength.  
  
         He was perfect in the ways nobody else would be able to.  
  
         It were those little things that made Castiel perfect – even though the angel kept laughing at the word with “there is nothing more imperfect than me, Dean.”  
  
         At some point, seconds till his last breath, he opened his eyes and whispered “You were the reason I chose to live”, fighting for air while gripping the Winchester’s hand, trying to hold onto his life as long as he could.  
  
         And then he left – permanently this time; the cold, dead Vessel and the perfect memories of his perfect little things that made Dean’s life finally mean something being the only evidence that an angel named Castiel has existed at all.


End file.
